Now that he's awake, he finds it hard to imagine ever sleeping again.
It isn't just that he's physically awake, of course. It's that now that he's cognizant of where he is, of what is happening, a lot of thoughts are frantically reorganizing, and it seems likely they would refuse to get on with it while he was unconscious.
Tonight when he comes home from spending the evening with Alex and Rousseau—Danielle—he finds a familiar person sitting on the doorstep waiting for him.
"Hey," his visitor says hesitantly. "You might not know me, but..."
"I know, Hugo."
The larger man pushes himself off the doorstep and comes at him, grabbing him in one of those bear hugs that had so startled Ben the first time he experienced it. Ben winces at the pressure on his arm and Hugo releases him immediately.
"Sorry," he says. "I didn't even notice."
"Too much of a familiar look on me?" Ben asks as he readjusts the sling, his recently triggered memories skidding around in his head.
"Too glad to see you." He breaks into an ear-to-ear grin. "I'm so happy for you."
"Happy?" Ben repeats, his arm throbbing.
"I was just in there talking to your dad. He kept going on and on about what a great son you are. Dude, that's awesome."
"I suppose it is."
"You suppose? You suppose?" Hugo laughs. "I forgot how extra-crazy-calm you get when you're trying to pretend you're not confused." He nudges Ben with his elbow. "You suppose."
"He's dying," says Ben, then stops. "How does that work here, exactly?"
Hugo shrugs.
"He's sick, at any rate. He's miserable."
"Naw, Ben, don't you get it? He's not miserable. He wanted this as much as you did."
"Slow death from lung failure?"
"Getting to be father and son."
Ben's eyes widen, and he nods slightly. "Oh."
"This is one of those times you need space to work stuff out on your own, right?"
Ben nods again.
"That's cool. Look, we're all meeting at the church in a few hours. Same church as before. Time to…you know."
A pause.
"I don't."
Hugo smiles. "I guess neither do I. See you later?"
"I'll be there."
Roger Linus gasps audibly as his son enters. "You didn't tell me it was that bad."
"I didn't want to worry you. And it's not as bad as it looks."
"So some guy just jumped you in the parking lot? Did you press charges?"
"Ahh..."
"He got away, didn't he?"
"He won't be back. Not now that I know who he is."
"Better not." Roger clenches a feeble fist. "Nobody lays a hand on my boy." He looks up. "You sure you're not in too much pain?"
"Of course I'm sure." Roger's face registers skepticism. "Why?"
"You're crying."
Ben lifts a finger to his cheek and brings it away wet. "How strange."
"It's been a rough day for you," Roger says compassionately. "Let's both turn in early."
Ben helps his father to his room and watches as he settles down into the pillows propped against the headboard. He remembers other nights of helping his father to bed, nights when Roger had been so drunk he could hardly stand, nights when Ben had moved as quietly and gently as possible because all he wanted in the world was to remain unnoticed by this man. Or he had thought it was all he wanted.
"I love you, Dad."
It surprises them both.
"I love you, too, Ben," his father says at last, his voice raspy.
"Well," he replies, a little awkwardly, as he switches off the lamp, "good night."
"Your mother would have been as proud of you as I am," comes the voice from the darkness, and something in its urgency makes Ben wonder...
"Thank you."
He sits in the living room with all the lights off, trying to catalog all these new thoughts.
He had had the knowledge of this place beaten into him. Physical pain was the strongest connection he had with his previous life. Must that be true for everyone? He doesn't think so. (He can't imagine Hugo—endearing, easygoing Hugo—having a plethora of memories of violence incurred to his person.) What if, for his father, words are a stronger force? All the time he's been in this sideways life, and he still doesn't know much about his father.
And then there are Alex and Danielle. Surely they and Roger need him here.
No. He can't believe that. He has experienced too many separations to believe that they cannot go on without him.
Can he go on without them? This time? Of his own choosing?
But can he stay? Will he be afraid of touching them or speaking to them, in case that is all it takes to wake them up? Afraid of the moment when Karl comes, in case it's Karl that draws Alex away, as he did before?
Except that's not how it really happened. She was driven, not drawn. He has known that since before this place.
What he knows now, in a rush, is that he has to wait until she remembers, until Danielle remembers, until he knows for sure that his father remembers. He has to stay until they recall everything he did to them, every reason they have to hate him, because he needs to ask, to beg for their forgiveness.
They deserve the chance to grant it. Or even to refuse. And so does someone else.
Ben gets to the church first.